


Much Ado

by olly_octopus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, aziraphale has the world’s biggest crush on Crowley, bc like, because this entire godforsaken fandom wants to shag him, but hey ho grass is green what else is new, crowley is oblivious, crowley’s arse makes a cameo, dont blame them, genesis and Shakespeare references anyone, it ends with a Shakespeare pun I’m so sorry, its just a fun read lmao, me too, no, ok, oof its a fluffy one, so is Aziraphale come to think of it, sorta - Freeform, the tiniest bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:28:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olly_octopus/pseuds/olly_octopus
Summary: Crowley lets out a harsh bark of laughter.“Hah! I remember Rome burning. I was right there; the angel’ll tell you, we—““—sat just outside the city?” (This is Adam.)“Watched the buildings crumble into the flames?” (This is Pepper.)“And you looked, ‘utterly ravishing as the flames seemed to dance in your eyes’?”This, of course, is Wensleydale, who Cannot Help Himself. Luckily, Adam pinches him as Crowley goes scarlet and collapses into a coughing fit.***Or, Aziraphale entertains the children with stories from history that always somehow manage to bleed into stories about a This One Cool Thing Crowley Did. The children aren’t idiots. And what’s the whole deal with Shakespeare writing a play about Aziraphale and Crowley anyway?





	Much Ado

**Author's Note:**

> im up shakespeares ass is it obvious

On the first day, Adam brought Brian to see Aziraphale.

Having spent the vast majority of his life in a crumbling little village with over-religious neighbors and the world’s most boring diversity spectrum, Adam Young is unsurprisingly overjoyed when Aziraphale accidentally lets slip a comment about how he remembers when “having glass in one's windows would be extremely expensive; you don’t know how lucky you are” one sunny afternoon when he pops over to check on him to make sure he still doesn’t want to rule the world. 

Because holy shit, he knew the angel would have been around for a bit, but he’d had no idea the extent to which that stretched— six-thousand years or so, in fact. Brian, who happened to be kicking around a rock at the same time as Aziraphale remarks upon “how lovely it is to see a young man so interested in history” Cannot Get Himself Over Fast Enough and so, for the next two hours, the angel makes it his business to answer as many niche and borderline pornographic questions as he possibly can.

“Is it true that King James the first only wrote the new bible so that the church would stop bothering him about having a boyfriend?”  
“I think that was the essence of it, although he also—“  
“Who was the first person to wank off?”  
“Well, I can only assume Adam— that is, the original Adam, heh, of course.”  
“Did you help Shakespeare write all that rude stuff into the plays? About dicks and so on?”  
“No, no, that was all him, um, perhaps a little from Crowley…”

The problem, however, with any questions that Aziraphale can link back to Crowley, he won’t shut up about for at least five minutes at a time. 

Not even interesting things, either; just rambling about how Crowley’s favourite Shakespeare production was Macbeth (closely followed by Twelfth Night), and how on one occasion he’d even risen to the task of playing Lady Macbeth herself when the original actor had gotten a very unfortunate and mysterious cough right before the performance. And then it was just endless rambling about how Crowley had utterly perfected the speech about demons coming to him and had even taken the liberty of conjuring up some strangely realistic breasts that bobbed extremely indecently when he moved around the stage… how Crowley’s only excuse for the breasts was that he “wanted to see Macbeth’s face” and that “it looked better with the low neckline”.

“Brian,” says Adam, shortly after they’ve left Aziraphale reminiscing about Crowley miracling back an outfit that had gone missing in rehearsals. “Do you think the angel’s a bit, uh, obsessed? With the demon?”  
“What demon,” replies Brian, who has the observational skills of a moth with ADHD, and who is currently putting the rock mentioned before in his mouth. “Do you think I can make this smooth if I leave it on my tongue long enough?”

Brian is no good, and so the second day, he brings Pepper.

Luckily, Pepper has the observational skills of a particularly astute bird of prey and so asks some surprisingly intellectually stimulating questions… that Aziraphale still manages to link back to Crowley for half an hour at a time.

“Have you ever met Simone de Beauvoir?”  
“I have, wonderful lady, ideas far ahead of her time. It’s a shame the patriarchy has been thriving for centuries or she might have been president at one time.”  
“Is the real reason that only men hunted was because it would devastate humanity to lose a woman to a tiger and men were more expendable?”  
“Absolutely. Women have always been the reason the world isn’t crumbling in on itself, and it’s a pity that men tend to manipulate historical events to fit their own misogynistic agenda. All you have to do is read Lord of the Flies to understand that.”

It’s actually all going very well until Pepper makes the grand mistake of asking, “So I know Crowley once disguised himself as a woman to be the mistaken antichrist’s nanny, but has he ever experienced sexual remarks or been subject to gender bias in that disguise?”

And oh dear, off he goes again. Blushing impressively while he’s at it, one might venture to add.

“Oh, goodness, I couldn’t possibly say… I know that once, to try and save me from capture back in the Georgian times, he had to dress up as a gentlewoman, and, haha, you know Crowley… couldn’t help but, um, sexualise himself a little. Unnecessarily voluptuous figure, the most gorgeous curly red hair… next thing anyone knew, some ruffian on the street had tried to put a hand up his skirt and have a bit of an old feel, as it were, and the next thing he was unconscious on the ground with a nosebleed. The ruffian, that is, not Crowley, um, after that I think he began walking young ladies home from dangerous places at night. Very sweet of him, I thought. I also recall—“

“Smitten,” announces Pepper much later, having finally managed to extract herself and Adam from the conversation when Aziraphale started going into detail on late 19th century brothels in London. Adam hums.  
“Didn’t even say anything.”  
“Didn’t need to. I’m not stupid.”  
“Brian was a bit slow—“  
“Brian’s always slow. I’m frankly hurt that you didn’t come to me first when you suspected he was a raging homosexual for Crowley. Is it homosexual? They’re both non binary, I suppose… although they are male presenting. Shall we go with homosexual? I think it fits them better.”  
“Agreed,” agrees Adam. “I was thinking of bringing Wensleydale tomorrow, just to see if he’d pick up on it too.”

“Sexist,” says Pepper. “Think my opinion isn't valid because I’m a woman?”  
“I think I’d want to see what the general conclusion is. Your vote will be added and possibly prioritised due to the fact you’re a bit brighter than the rest of us.”  
“Good.”

On the third day, he brings Wensleydale.

“Do you think children should have the vote?”  
“Historically speaking, adults don’t seem to do a very good job at deciding the leader of countries and they usually aren’t particularly good at running them either so I don’t see why not.”  
“Is it true that Shakespeare was bi? Cos my English teacher says it’s all down to personal interpretation and that they didn’t even have names for sexualities back in the day, and she says that the sonnets about men were just written from a woman’s perspective.”  
“My dear boy, I have on multiple occasions watched Shakespeare do things I reuse to share with you in the middle of dimly lit pubs with men before he met Anne. I’d say your English teacher is perhaps a little biphobic.”  
“Called it.”

Aziraphale seems to think about this for a little while, then a smile crosses his face which Wensleydale instantly picks up on.

“Yeah? What is it?”  
“Oh, it’s nothing.” He giggles, and Wensleydale lets out an agonised cry.  
“You can’t leave us hanging!”  
“No, no… it’s just, once, I remember William suggesting that, heh, Crowley and I looked almost like a couple.” He goes pink. “We aren’t, of course, erm, I don’t know where he got that idea from. He used to tell us that we were the perfect archetypes of enemies to lovers; always at each other’s throats but, somewhere deep down there was an underlying affection. Spent too much time in an imaginary world, I think. Writing his plays and such... Always said he’d write something for me and Crowley, but that I’d have to figure out which one it was. Strange fellow. Brilliant, but strange.”

“Call your bets,” crows Adam happily as he runs off into the woods ten minutes later, Wensleydale panting and chasing him as he goes.  
“Romeo and Juliet?”  
“Too obvious. Anyway, they took five days, and them two are well on the way of taking six thousand years.”

Adam finally comes to a halt at the tallest tree in the forest, and slides to the ground against its trunk. Wensleydale crashes down beside him, glasses misted up and trying to catch his breath.  
“Nah, I think it’ll be way more subtle than that. To make them have to look for it, see? Only, they’re just too oblivious for that.”  
Wensleydale pushes his glasses back up his nose.  
“I still think it’s interesting. You know, two houses alike in dignity… civil blood and that. Two opposite sides of a war.”  
“That’ll have been an accident. There’s no way Shakespeare would have known about them being from heaven and hell, respectively. That’s more than their lives are worth.”  
Wensleydale sniffs. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Shall we think about this thematically?”  
“Let’s get ice cream first.”  
“Excellent idea.”

And then they get ice cream, and go through the Shakespeare plays they know, one by one. Othello, King Lear, a Midsummer Night’s Dream (one of Adam’s favourites), Julius Caesar and on and on until they’re blue in the face.

“I give up,” cries Wensleydale at last, sinking into the grass and throwing the rest of the ice cream cone off into the bushes in frustration. “It’s impossible! Maybe he never got round to writing one.”  
“Bullshit,” declares Adam, who is nevertheless looking at the list of crossed out plays with something like disdain. “There’ll be one out there.”

He hasn’t much hope, though.

On the fourth day, they Concur.

“Shakespeare play?” Pepper frowns. “Are we entirely sure he’s not too hung up on Crowley miracling himself a pair of female presenting breasts to think of anything other than Shakespeare?”  
“What,” says Wensleydale, who hasn’t heard this story. Pepper shushes him.  
“Who’s Shakespeare,” says Brian, who is currently being taught Much Ado About Nothing in English but who has decided to spend this time staring out the window and chewing pens. He is rightfully shushed, too.

None of them would have really given it any thought at all, but Aziraphale is gradually becoming more and more of a friend and parental figure to all of them since he helped Adam prevent the apocalypse. And, well, six thousand years is a very long time not to act on any feelings one might have, and it’s really their duty to make sure Aziraphale and Crowley are happy after all.

Or, at least, they’ve made it so.

“Are they gonna have sex,” says Brian, at last. Everyone stares at him.  
“I don’t know if they could,” says Wensleydale faintly.  
“If Crowley can give himself tits, he can absolutely give himself a—“  
“Sounds like fetishising queer relationships to me,” announces Pepper, tearing up some leaves she’s found.

And then they Talk some more, about whether celestial or demonic penises can really synthesise into existence and then a bit about whether chocolate or strawberry ice cream is better.

And then they go home, and have tea.

On the fifth day, Crowley comes to see Aziraphale, and Adam and The Them scramble out of the forest to come talk to him.

They find the pair sitting on a bench, nowhere near the church which is probably something of a Good Idea. Crowley seems to be complaining at Aziraphale for some mysterious reason, but he stops fairly quickly when he catches sight of the children.

“Hello,” says Wensleydale.  
“Hi,” says Pepper.  
“Are you Crowley,” says Brian.  
“Yeah,” says Crowley.  
“I’ve been teaching the children history,” pipes up Aziraphale gratefully, and Crowley gives him a contemptuous look.  
“That’s your excuse, is it?”

Aziraphale blinks at him anxiously, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. After staring at him for a short while, Crowley growls, puts out a hand and gently pushes his face away.  
“Don’t look at me like that, angel.”  
“Sorry, I—“  
“This bastard, fuckin’ turning the baby blues on me when he knows I’m in the right,” snarls Crowley with no real malice. “Learnt that trick in the fifteenth century and hasn’t stopped bloody using it since.”

Pepper raises one eyebrow and Adam nudges her. Don’t say anything.  
“How about you go get the children some ice creams, Crowley?” Aziraphale suggests, the clear subtext being that they shouldn’t be arguing around Adam and his friends.  
“Maybe you’re right,” agrees Crowley after a short silence, and gets to his feet. “Don’t even bother telling me what you want; I’ll know.” And off he saunters, leaving a worried looking Aziraphale in his wake.  
“Oh dear,” murmurs Aziraphale. “I do hope he’s not too upset.”

What do you do,” breathes Wensleydale in awe, scrambling up to the bench to watch Crowley sashay off.  
“He’s got a very nice bottom,” remarks Adam casually, partly because it’s true but mostly to see Aziraphale’s reaction. His efforts are not wasted.  
“I’ve never looked!” Aziraphale squeaks, his voice rising about three octaves.  
“Of course you haven’t,” says Pepper in a tone that’s probably meant to sound consoling.

Aziraphale laughs nervously.

“Anyway, aside from Crowley’s, um, yes. Why are you all back? Here for more history lessons?”  
“Ooh, goodie,” says Brian, whose only real recollection of Aziraphale’s history lessons is that he knows quite a lot about phalluses through the ages. He plonks himself down happily on the grass.  
“What did you do,” presses Wensleydale. Aziraphale coughs.  
“He just… he wanted to know why I’d been gone so long. Thought I was avoiding him, or, um. Something.”

“But you weren’t,” says Adam sharply. Aziraphale grimaces.  
“Oh, don’t tell me—“  
“He’s been in a bad mood lately! Do you know how many of his plants he’s killed in the last week? Seven! I didn’t think… he’d want me around.”

Pepper rolls her eyes.  
“I’m sure he does. Anyway, did Emperor Nero really play the fiddle as Rome burnt?”

Four minutes and twenty seven seconds later, after Aziraphale has managed to successfully provide helpful and engaging facts about Rome’s demise and simultaneously talk about how attractive Crowley is, Crowley makes his return to the bench with four correctly chosen ice creams in his hands.  
“Wicked,” declares Brian, taking his and immediately managing to get some on his jeans.

“What are you all talking about,” says Crowley.  
“Fire,” replies Wensleydale.  
“Nice,” says Crowley.

On the sixth day, Aziraphale comes down with a cold, but luckily Crowley decides to take his space on the bench and entertain the children for an hour or so.

How hard can it be?

“Can you magic yourself a penis?”  
“Who, in your opinion, is the most important female role model in the last thousand years?”  
“Why are chihuahuas called that? More importantly, why are they spelt like that? Huge mistake in my opinion.”  
Crowley slowly removes his sunglasses to stare at them all.  
“I’ve got a question. Are all small children on crack or is it just you?”  
“Just us,” says Adam. Crowley nods slowly. 

“Let’s go one at a time, shall we?”

And they do. As it turns out, Crowley isn’t anywhere near as bad as Aziraphale for going off on rambles about his friend, but whenever Aziraphale’s name pops up in conversation his eyes always seem to shine a little brighter and sometimes he’ll get a pink tint to his cheeks. It’s really quite sweet. Then, after roughly seventeen minutes, Pepper raises her hand.  
“Girl child?”  
“Aziraphale was telling us about Rome’s destruction, but he didn’t really seem to know whether or not Nero played the fiddle. Do you know?” 

All children present sit up a little straighter. Adam’s eyes glint as Crowley lets out a harsh bark of laughter.  
“Hah! I remember Rome burning. I was right there; the angel’ll tell you, we—“  
“—sat just outside the city?” (This is Adam.)  
“Watched the buildings crumble into the flames?” (This is Pepper.)  
“And you looked, ‘utterly ravishing as the flames seemed to dance in your eyes’?” This, of course, is Wensleydale, who Cannot Help Himself. Luckily, Adam pinches him as Crowley goes scarlet and collapses into a coughing fit.

On the seventh day, they rest against a stone wall that definitely doesn’t belong to any of them, and watch Aziraphale and Crowley talk in hushed whispers by the same bench from yesterday. And the days before, actually.

“I hope we didn’t make the wrong decision,” mumbles Wensleydale, who has found himself yet another ice cream and is probably going to get fat soon if he doesn’t cut it out quickly.  
“You, you mean.” Pepper frowns at him. “You were the one who decided to tell him what Aziraphale was saying about his eyes.”  
“It was really nice,” protests Wensleydale. “I liked it. I’m going to use it when I’m a grown up.”  
“You’ll never be a grown up,” says Pepper.  
“Shut up, all of you,” Adam hisses. “I think something’s happening.”

Sure enough, Crowley’s rising from the bench, blushing a spectacular shade of crimson. He mutters something that none of the four can hear, then turns on his heel to storm away. Adam feels his stomach drop.  
Then, Aziraphale gets to his feet, cries something that sounds a little like, “Don’t be such a hypocritical bastard!”, marches forwards and, as Crowley turns, grabs his face and pulls him down into a kiss.  
“Nice,” says Brian as Crowley stiffens, then melts into the kiss. They stand there, rocking for a few seconds, then Aziraphale releases Crowley and stalks away. 

Crowley stands, frozen, watching Aziraphale walk, then he yells, “Angel, wait!” and runs after him until they’re both out of view.

“It’ll work itself out just fine,” declares Pepper confidently.  
“Definitely,” agrees Adam.  
“Oh, man, I know what it is,” mutters Brian, and it’s so startling for Brian to know anything that all three children turn in amazement to face him.  
“What? What do you know?”  
Brian grins. “That Much Ado shite. Benedict and Beatrix.”  
“You mean Benedic and Beatrice?”  
“That’s the fella.”

“No way,” replies Wensleydale. “Not in a month of Sundays.”  
“It fits!” Brian insists. “Enemies to lovers? Couldn’t get their shit together till someone actively encouraged them? I’m sure it is.”  
“Fight me,” mumbles Wensleydale, and Brian tackles him readily into the grass as Pepper and Adam fall about laughing.  
“Much Ado my arse,” yells Wensleydale, before getting to his feet and sprinting off into the trees.  
“Blasphemy!”

And so, the four tumble into the undergrowth as Wensleydale’s half-eaten ice cream melts in the sun behind them. 

Perhaps it is Much Ado. Perhaps it is Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps it was neither; perhaps we’ll never know.

Only one thing’s for sure, and that’s that it’s Aziraphale and Crowley and they are incomparable to anything else in the universe, despite what Shakespeare might or might not think. And that’s as they like it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, I think I’ve successfully gotten all the smut out of my system from yesterday and I’m now ready to fluff my way through life once more
> 
> also how can I not do one (1) maths quiz but I can easy bang out over 7,000 words of ineffable husbands content in three days huh
> 
> tumblr is @/ollyoctopus


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